


No Picture Can Express

by nutmeag83



Series: What Is a Picture Worth? [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Instagram, It's a whole forking pine forest y'all, M/M, Mention of tattoos, Mutual Pining, Social Media, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Teen rating for language, book shop, flower shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22314490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: Ezra Fell prefers books (and discretely watching the lovely florist down the street) to social media, but takes up the hobby at Madame Tracy's urging. Anthony Crowley has been pining after his neighbor for ages, happy to keep his distance until Ezra asks him to tutor him in using Instagram. They find they have more in common than just having shops on the same block in Soho.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: What Is a Picture Worth? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622938
Comments: 45
Kudos: 161
Collections: Ineffable Humans AU





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> My first go at an AU for this 'verse. This is what comes from asking myself how Aziraphale would react to Instagram. I think it's cute. ;)
> 
> Not beta'd or Britpicked. I was too busy looking at pictures of flowers.

At the sound of that cheerful voice carrying down the street, Anthony J Crowley’s response is practically Pavlovian after two years: hear Ezra’s voice, whip head in direction of said voice. He knows it’s ridiculous. He’s only had the courage to speak to the man once, when he’d needed to find a book for his grandmother and didn’t have time to drop by a Waterstone’s. This was back when Ezra had first taken over the bookshop a couple of years before. Before Anthony[1] had a chance to really realize how adorable and sweet and the slightest amount of bastard that Ezra Fell is. Since then, Anthony has kept his distance for fear of stuttering all over the poor man or accidentally asking him to marry him or whatever other embarrassing thing his body might attempt to do without his permission.

He keeps his distance now, watching as Ezra waves to Madame Tracy, who hurries across the street to chat (like it’s _nothing_ , like it’s the easiest thing in the world; why doesn’t _she_ go all bumbling over the man?). Despite her eyebrow-raising past (and sort of her present, though that’s only a couple of days a week at this point), she’s made herself the mother of all the shop owners on their block. Some might call her nosy, but Anthony understands what it’s like to have no family left—his grandmother, the only one in the family who actually cared about him once he hit adulthood, having passed a year ago. And she’s harmless and sweet. He doesn’t complain when she smothers him more than he’s comfortable with. She means well, and she’s the only reason he eats home-cooked meals. He’d survive on take-away and fake-good-for-you meal bars if left to his own devices.

The one time he does protest, however, is when she—knowing of his completely ridiculous schoolboy crush—nudges him to approach Ezra to, if nothing else, be his friend. He’s put her off every time with one excuse or another. What would a sweet, cheerful bookseller have in common with a tattoo-covered florist who can’t even manage to use actual flowers in most of his bouquets, preferring weird greenery to colorful petals. A _bumbling_ idiot at that. No, Ezra is far too smart and amazing for the likes of Anthony, even as a friend. It’s better if he just continues to pine from a distance.

He watches Madame Tracy and Ezra lean over what must be a phone in the man’s hand. After a moment, they turn and head into the bookshop, allowing Anthony to stop gawping and finish opening his own shop for business. He tries to put the cherubic figure out of his mind (it’s illegal how curly-haired and rosy-cheeked he is) by concentrating on a large funeral wreath he needs to finish within the hour, but he still finds himself staring off into the ether as he imagines the cute giggles he _knows_ Ezra must make when he’s delighted. (Could he ever hope to delight Ezra? _Stop thinking about that, Anthony_.)

Forty-three minutes later, the wreath has been sent off with Newt to be delivered, and Anthony is left twiddling his thumbs. It’s a slow time of year, too cheerfully summer for people to need dead plants in their houses. He picks up his phone to post some new arrangement pictures to Insta, only to find a message from Madame Tracy on the app. She’s shared a profile with him. He taps it just as there’s a cheery “yoohoo!” at the door as the woman herself enters the shop. He looks up before he can see who the profile is for.

“Oh, good, you got my message,” she says without preamble, bustling her way through the shop to lean on the counter in her signature, I’m-here-to-gossip stance.

“Whuh? Oh, yeah.” He looks down again to see a single post on the profile page. The profile picture is the same as the post: a stack of old books on a dusty table. His face scrunches. “What is it?”

“I finally talked dear Ezra into getting an account. The poor boy has so few customers. I thought it might help.”

Anthony bites back a guffaw. It’s well known on the block that the “poor boy” prefers having a light customer base so he can hoard the antique books for himself. And there’s a rumor (it must be a rumor, right? He’s so sweet and kind) going ‘round that a few men in suits had dropped by the shop once, and they haven’t been seen since. After it sinks in what Madame Tracy has said, though, he frowns.

“Wait. Everyone knows he barely understands how to use a smartphone even for calling. How the hell did you talk him into Instagram? How’d you even _explain_ it to him?”

She sighs. “I’ve been wearing him down for months.”

Anthony tears his eyes away from this single scrap of a thing he has from Ezra (not even meant to be _for_ him specifically anyway). “Why’d you send it to me? I already know he sells books.”

Her smile is mischievous, but she her words attempt to be innocent. “Because you are good at Instagram. I thought you could offer him some pointers, or at the very least Like his posts and maybe send some of your followers his way.”

“Oh, so it has nothing to do with your attempts at matchmaking?”

Tracy shrugs and looks off to the side, neither confirming nor denying the accusation.

“He doesn’t even know me,” he argues.

“Of course he does.”

“Then why does he never talk to me?”

“You never talk to him either.”

“Tha– bu– i–” He splutters and points to his mouth. “I literally can’t!”

She smiles and shakes her head. “He thinks he’s scared you away.”

“He’s _talked_ about me?” The idea makes his heart pound.

“Almost as much as you talk about him,” she says with a wink.

White. Static. Ringing ears. Oh God, is he having a heart attack? He’s too young to die, but hell, there are far worse ways to go.

“He likes your tattoos,” she adds slyly.

Anthony drops to the stool that is luckily just behind him. “Don’t say these things, Tracy.”

“Why not? It should make you happy that he thinks about you as much you do him.”

“No! It makes it worse. Because he– It’s– It-it-it just _is_ , okay?”

She steps closer and pats him softly on the cheek. “Oh, you sweet boy. You’re thinking too hard. Please, for me, would you follow his account? All you have to do is Like a few things, maybe comment once. You’re not the only one who could use a confidence boost.”

With that, she drops a kiss on his cheek and sweeps out of the shop. “Breathe into a paper bag, dearie!”

It takes twelve minutes of controlled breathing while staring at his phone, but he finally sighs and taps Like on the post before swiping his screen closed and dropping his phone onto the counter.

If this goes pear-shaped, he knows exactly who he’ll blame.[2]

***

His phone makes an unfamiliar noise, prompting Ezra Fell to pick it up and wake his screen. He’s still not sold on this smartphone business, but having an interactive map handy when he inevitably gets lost during his walks around London is probably worth it. He’s not sure about this Instagram thing, though. He frowns when he sees the little rounded square icon at the top of his screen. Madame Tracy said it would appear when he gets notified of things for the application and had shown him what she meant when she’d “Followed” his account. Follow. Like. These social media words are ridiculous. Why can’t he just _talk_ to people? It’s far easier.

Then his mind flits to the person he’d _like_ to talk to but can’t. It’s been twenty-one months since he’d prattled on and scared away the one person to catch his interest since he’d broken things off with his ex-who-shall-remain-nameless. At this point, it would be strange to offer a hand in friendship.

He isn’t the type to fall in love at first sight, but the initial view of one Anthony J Crowley had definitely piqued his interest. He’d taken one look at that slim frame wrapped in black jeans and charcoal waistcoat, his arms covered in tattoos Ezra would die to get a closer look at, and had promptly tripped over the curb and almost dropped a pricy box of books. The love and real attraction had come in time. He isn’t sure how he can fall in love with someone he’s talked to one single time for fifteen minutes several years ago, but here he is, aching to catch any glimpse that he can. That all the shopkeepers on the street indulge his infatuation doesn’t help. They “drop by to chat,” which inevitably turns into extolling the virtues of Anthony—plant whisperer and really cool guy. The palm reader Anathema goes on and on about his sense of humor and record collection, Newton (the man himself’s delivery guy) has a list a meter long of his favorite elaborate arrangements Anthony has made over the years, even Shadwell the … well, Ezra isn’t actually sure what he does besides complain and consume his weight in sugar, but even Shadwell has nice things to say. Well, they’re more neutral statements than anything else, but that’s practically gushing from the odd, gruff man.

A few minutes of confused fumbling later, Ezra finally realizes the Instagram has told him someone hearted the picture he’d snapped and posted earlier under the tutelage of Madame Tracy. She’s such a dear, he doesn’t have the heart to tell her he isn’t exactly looking to expand his client base. He’d inherited the bookshop from his uncle. A man rich from smart investments and no children or wife, he’d bequeathed a large chunk of his estate to Ezra, who now mostly keeps the shop open for nostalgic reasons, but who jealously guards his books like a dragon would gold.

He doesn’t recognize the name **_canigetawahoo_** , but his tutor had explained that people don’t use their actual names for this application (he’d then deleted his own **_EzraFell_** and changed it to **_bibliophile_** , then to **_bibliophile01_** when the first was taken, finally landing on **_guardian_angel_of_books_** [courtesy of Madame Tracy]). He knows there’s a way to go to a person’s account information, but arse it all if he can remember how. He taps various bits of the screen to no affect except that he may have hearted his own post. Is that even possible? A slip of the finger to the left brings up some other page that he can’t figure out what it’s for at all, as it’s mostly blank. He’s promised Tracy he’ll try this application for a month, but he knows he’ll give up after that. He doesn’t have enough friends, and he really doesn’t want to bring anyone into the store who finds him via social media. Blech. It’s bad enough getting random people off the street dropping by.

The heart at the bottom of the screen pulses and he taps it. It takes him to a page that says **_an_anathema_device_** and **_canigetawahoo_ **have liked his post. Well he knows about the second one, the application already told him that. He’s thankful, though, that Anathema has a recognizable account name, but now he’s displeased that Madame Tracy wouldn’t let him use his own name. The top of the screen changes, demanding that he approve a follow request from **_an_anathema_device_**.

“How?” he asks his phone desperately. He again repeatedly taps the screen and somehow lands on the request page. The request disappears, so he must have approved it. Either that or “ignored” it. He’s not sure.

He gives up on figuring out who the mysterious **_canigetawahoo_** is (the tiny picture sort of looks like a plant, which isn’t helpful at all). His eyes land on a beam of light coming from the skylight of his shop. It sparkles with dust and highlights a set of books beautifully. He smiles and is about to set down his phone when he realizes he should capture the gorgeous sight, now that he an Instagram account.

After several failed attempts, he finds the camera option in the Instagram and snaps a picture. He’s not sure he’s posted it until it pops up on the screen. Then he frowns. It looks nothing like real life! He can’t see the beam in the air at all, and the shine from one of the gold-leafed books is so bright it drowns the surrounded tomes. He tries again, but that picture is blurry. He tries a third time but catches a pink blob at the bottom of the shot. And he still can’t see the beam of light at all, even after scrolling through all the filters.

He’s about to try a fourth time when he gets another follow request. It’s **_canigetawahoo_** , and after he accepts it, a different notification pops up. He taps it and it takes him to a message page.

A message blurb next to **_canigetawahoo’s_** possibly-plant-picture sits there.

> u should probably stop posting the same pics over n over b4 you scare away any potential custumers 😉
> 
> **Who is this?**
> 
> right. sorry. this is anthony. crowley. umm, plant guy from down the strt?

Ezra’s breath catches. _Anthony has messaged him._ And followed his account, apparently. Tracy had mentioned that good things may come of him joining the social media application, but he’d never in his wildest expected this. And less than two hours after he’d made the account, no less! He forces himself to breathe normally, then laboriously begins typing a response. Four minutes and eight deletions later, he sends it into the ether. No, _to Anthony_. He smiles to himself.

> **Oh! Hello, Anthony. Thank you for following me. And thank you for the advice. I’m still learning how to use this application. I wish there was a manual. I should also perhaps take a photography class. The young’uns make picture-taking look so easy.**
> 
> **It’s nice to talk to you again.** **😊  
>  Ezra**

It takes almost a whole minute for him to figure out the smiley face alone, and he’s proud when he finally finds it.

The word “Typing…” appear on Anthony’s side of the conversation. It disappears. It appears again. It disappears. It starts up a third time and stays on the screen for long moments. Ezra waits with bated breath. Finally, the message appears.

> sorry. not the most personabl person on the street. i tend to keep to myself. and work a lot. these plants wont water and arrange themselves. 😉 anyway. i think pretty much anyone on the block would be happy to help u learn to use ig. learning 2 take good pics is antoher story tho. that one takes lotsa practice.

Ezra cringes at the typos, sentence fragments, and shortened versions of words. But despite Anthony’s terrible writing, he obviously knows how to use this application. Ezra has finally figured out how to go to Anthony’s account page. He has hundreds of pictures, mostly artfully arranged greenery, but also (bless) pictures of adorable animals and (oh dear Lord) downright _sinful_ pictures of food. He always rolls his eyes when he sees people taking copious pictures of their meals, but now he gets it. His mouth waters at the sight of the bowl of gnocchi in one picture, and he moans out loud at the lava cake in another. He slaps his hand over his mouth, then fiddles around until he navigates back to the message page.

> **It seems you know your way around this application. And you’ve already offered one kind piece of advice. Would you mind terribly tutoring me?  
>  Ezra**

He holds his breath as the downright frustrating “Typing…” appears again. It goes away, and this time it takes several minutes to reappear.

> wouldnt anathema be a better tuter? shes far younger and has been using a smartphone since she was a baby.

Ezra doubts that. She _is_ quite young, though, and he understands what Anthony means. But Ezra doesn’t want to talk with her, as sweet and funny as she is. He wants to get to know _Anthony_.

As he’s typing, he realizes Anthony isn’t signing his name, and it’s obvious who is talking to whom, so Ezra stops adding his own name to his messages.

> **Yes, well, if I wanted to post like a young, hip person, I’d happily ask her opinion. But I’m no spring chicken myself. I think you are more on my wavelength.**

He realizes he’s basically called Anthony uncool only after he’s sent the message. He hurries to correct himself, and his own typing suffers for it.

> **Not that youe’r not hip! You are very cool. So cool. Teh coolest. But also you’re not barley out of nappies.**
> 
> **And before you suggest Madame Tracy, don’t. She’s lovely as well, but I think you and I have much more in cmmon than she and I do.**

After half a minute, the screen tells him that his message has been “read,” but Anthony does not reply. Ezra gives up—certain that he’s scared the poor man away yet again—and is making a cup of tea to console himself when his phone announces a new notification. He scrambles to wake his screen—dropping it thrice in the process, though only a few centimeters to the worktop just under his hands—and finds a message waiting for him. He is disappointed in the brevity of it.

> if u really want

“Well, if I hadn’t wanted it, I wouldn’t have asked, now would I?” he mutters to himself. He’s certain now that he’s frightened Anthony away, who is just too polite to say so. He takes a deep breath and formulates his reply.

> **Don’t feel obligated. I just thought it would be nice to get to know you a little better. We are neighbours after all. And we have things in common. Perhaps I could take you out to dinner while you explain how the application works? Then I could learn to take pictures of food at the same time!**
> 
> like what in common?!?!?

Are that many exclamation and question marks really necessary? Social media is so strange.

> **We are both 1) men who own shops on the same block in Soho, 2) are over forty, 3) have tattoos, 4) wear waistcoats, and 5) enjoy a good meal.**
> 
> oh

Anthony’s tiny reply sits there for a while before his next message appears.

> u have tattoos?!?
> 
> **They’re hidden under my clothes so I can present a respectable appearance for my job, but yes, I have several.**
> 
> oh
> 
> i don’t really eat out much
> 
> Liar.
> 
> **Your account shows otherwise, as does Madame Tracy.**
> 
> heh. busted. im trying to eat out less these days. mdm T is worried about my blood pressure.
> 
> **Ah yes. She worries about me too. She’s quite sweet, though.**
> 
> when shes not smothering you? 😉
> 
> **Exactly. Well then, you could come ‘round to mine some evening after you close up shop. I could make hot chocolate or tea. I also have several lovely bottles of wine, if that’s more your preference. In any case, I’d repay your kindness in the form of your choosing.**
> 
> right. yeah. maybe next week some time?
> 
> **Oh, thank you, Anthony! You don’t know how grateful I am, and I really hope this is not an imposition. One short lesson should do me just fine. Want to say Wednesday? 6pm?**
> 
> can we make it 6.30?
> 
> **Most certainly! Thank you again. I’ll see you next Wednesday at 6:30 pm then. Well, I hope I see you before then. Don’t be afraid to wave from across the street! I promise I don’t bite.** **😉**
> 
> heh. right. c u then
> 
> bye
> 
> **Good-bye, Anthony. See you soon!**

Ezra spends the rest of the day formulating ways to stretch this tutoring session beyond one ~~date~~ evening. He already knows a single time won’t be enough.

***

Shitshitshitfuckshitballsfuckshit. Anthony can’t breathe. Can’t think. His brain is mush and his legs jelly. How has a kind gesture to placate Madame Tracy (and stop Ezra from embarrassing himself further) turned into a date? No! Not a date. Notadatenotadatenotadate. Just one friendly neighbor helping out another. Everyone on the block does it. Anathema helps out with deliveries when Newt is sick or they’re overrun with orders. Anthony has lent his voice on several occasions when Tracy has unbelieving customers (for her seance business, not the other [just as respectable, but one Anthony would rather not take part in] one). They’re a family, of a sort. This is just Anthony and Ezra being brotherly, is all.

He really doesn’t want Ezra to be his brother.

He’s also terrified the session will go tits up. He’s bound to bumble and drool all over Ezra, who thinks Anthony is _cool_ , but despite his tattoos, slick shades, and black wardrobe, he’s the furthest thing from cool. He’s almost fifty, has no family left that cares about him, no social life to speak of beyond weekly dinners with an aging dominatrix and stilted conversations with his delivery guy and the quirky palm reader down the street, and he cares far more about his plants than any normal person would.

And, holy shit, Ezra has fucking tattoos? Anthony had almost fainted when he’d read that. Hiding under those crisp shirts, worn waistcoats, and jaunty bowties (omfg, he is literally the most adorable man Anthony has ever met) are an unknown number of mysterious tattoos. He clenches a fist until the nails cut into his palm to stop himself thinking about exploring and learning every inch of ink that decorates that man’s precious skin.

Fuck, how’s he supposed to work the rest of the day now that he knows this piece of information?

  
**\--Footnotes--**   
  


[1] Birth name: Carl. He’d hated it from the time he was three and changed it as soon as he legally could.

[2] Himself. He’s the one with the ridiculous crush, after all.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for their not-date

Wednesday of the following week is rainy and dreary, the sky so dark that Anthony needs all the lights on in the shop to tempt people in. Every shop on the street is the same except for the bookshop on the corner, where only a single, golden light glows from one of the back windows. He wonders if Ezra has got lost in a book and is huddled under the solitary light accidentally, or if this is a ploy to keep potential customers out of his shop. He hopes the rumors that he was left with a significant inheritance along with the shop are true, otherwise he’ll soon have to either close or actually sell off some of his hoard. The thought of Ezra as a dragon makes him smile. He can picture it clearly: cream and gold scales, a pleasantly round shape, small silver reading glasses perched atop his snub-nosed snout while he sleeps on a pile of books as his adorably tiny wings flap slowly.

No, he does _not_ need a dragon tattoo. He does not. Not … Fuck.

He shakes his head in attempt to clear it and goes back to staring into his wardrobe. How is it so hard to choose something to wear? All he owns are shades of black, so matching isn’t an issue. But should he go for uber casual, with a t-shirt and faded jeans? Should he dress to impress, with a button-down shirt paired with a waistcoat and leather trousers? A bowler hat? No, that’s stupid. Why does he even _own_ a bowler hat? Twenty minutes after trying everything on twice, he takes the best of both worlds: non-faded jeans, a black tee, and his nicer charcoal waistcoat. The shirt shows off his tattoo sleeves nicely, which might perhaps lead Ezra to mention them, after which Anthony can smoothly ask about the other man’s ink.

Except that he could practice the conversation for the rest of time, but he’ll still stumble over his words as soon as he gets within sight of the object of his affection.

Fuck. This night will not go well.

***

For once, Ezra actually dusts the shop. He worries Anthony may have allergies, or that he’ll be so turned off by the dust that he’ll never return—which is perfect for scaring away customers, not so great for wooing the man you’ve been pining after for two years. He stares into his wine cupboard for twenty minutes, second guessing every choice. Then he tries to choose from the plain, dark, and mint hot chocolate mixes he makes from scratch. He repeats the process a third time with teas (except he has over a dozen of those to choose from, so it takes four times as long). He almost leaves in a panic when he realizes he doesn’t have much to eat, but he remembers Anthony is watching his blood pressure, so he worries that anything he’d get would be detrimental to his health. He finally drops down onto the sofa in his back room, strings cut but heart thumping.

He’d considered taking Anthony up to his first floor flat above the shop, but thinks it might be seen as too forward, and so decides to limit their (definitely not a date) session to the more professional, if cluttered, private area of the shop. Before he can worry about anything else,[3] there’s a tentative knock on the front door, then a stronger second one.

Ezra pops up from the sofa and scurries for the locked door (he’d closed at three to keep out any potential customers who might ruin the evening). He takes a deep breath, then unlocks and opens the door.

“Anthony! You made it.” Just the sight of the handsome man on his doorstep calms his heart and makes him smile. “Please, come in!” He steps back far enough to let Anthony in, but still close enough to get a whiff of a cedar-based cologne. He memorizes the scent so he’ll think of him every time he smells it in the future, after Anthony inevitably runs away from Ezra’s intensity. _God, please let him not run. Please, let him stay. It would be so nice if …_

He looks good enough to eat, wearing a short-sleeved shirt that highlights his beautiful ink, his chin-length auburn hair tied back to show off his cheekbones, and—dear Lord—that waistcoat. Ezra mentally fans himself

He’s brought of his daze of indexing every centimeter in front of him when Anthony shoves a potted plant at him. “Here. You. Welcome.” A loud swallow accompanies his arms jerking back after depositing the plant in Ezra’s startled hands.

“Oh.” Ezra cradles the gift. It’s like nothing he’s seen before—many petaled, with so-dark-they’re-almost-black flowers and creamy white things (stamens???) in the center of each flower that sits in a midnight blue ceramic pot with gold leaf detailing—and he vows to keep it alive for years. It’s gorgeous.[4] “Thank you. It’s lovely.”

“Helleborus Onyx Odyssey. Needs partial to full sun and lots of good air circulation. Keep the soil well moist.” Anthony ducks past Ezra and rubs his neck as he glances around the shop. His voice is flat and a bit strained.

“Oh,” Ezra says again. He hopes the man is okay. Is he angry? Annoyed? Just as nervous as Ezra is? Surely not. Ill, maybe? Then he looks at the plant again, confused. “Um, what’s it for?”

Anthony whips around. His often-present shades are for once not resting on his nose, the cloudy early evening is dark enough that wearing them would make walking a tad hazardous. Ezra is glad. He can finally see how lovely the golden-brown eyes are.

“Uh. Welcome?”

With a frown, Ezra says, “But I moved in two years ago.”

“Yeah, but I- I never welcomed you properly. Very un-neighborly of me. Rude. Yeah, not nice. Sssorry.”

The slight stutter and hiss endear him even further to Ezra, if that’s even possible. So, not completely suave. Good. He’s human. Ezra likes human. Human is within reach, it’s comfortable, it’s real.

He smiles. “Oh, well then, thank you. I’ll put it …” He casts his gaze around the room, looking for a free bit of shelf or table, in a place he’ll see as much as possible. He finally heads to a corner table that’s not completely covered with books.

Just as he’s about to set it down, Anthony makes a noise.

“Ngh. Sun, Angel. The plant needs _sun_.” He strides over and grabs the ceramic pot, cradling it as he heads for the area under the skylight, too distracted by Ezra’s sin against flora to remember to be nervous(??). Or to realize he’s just called Ezra _Angel_. Where had _that_ come from? It doesn’t matter. He feels all fluttery.

“Angel?” he chokes out before he can stop his mouth. _Stop being so intense, you numpty. Don’t draw attention to it or he’ll stop!_

Too late, Anthony freezes mid-step. He doesn’t turn around, bowing his head to talk to the plant instead. “Oh, well. Our, um, that is we– our first real conversation wa-was on Insta, and your name on it is **_guardian_angel_of_books_** , so I guess I ssstarted thinking of you as that? It’s stupid, I’ll–”

“No!” Ezra takes a breath. “That is, it’s fine. If we’re to be friends, we should have nicknames for each other. Well, not _should,_ as in must, but we can, if we want. It’s fine. It’s … good.”

Anthony’s shoulders come down from around his ears, and he half glances behind himself, in the direction Ezra is standing. “Oh. Alright then. Angel.”

Ezra suppresses a shiver and tries to think up a good name for Anthony but draws a blank.

“Yes, so. Hot chocolate? Tea? Wine?”

With a final untensing, Anthony carefully moves a short stack of books and puts the pot in their place. “Uh yeah, yes please.”

Ezra waits a few moments for Anthony to choose one, but when nothing further is forthcoming, he asks. “Which?”

“Oh! Right. Whatever you’re having.”

Thinking they both could use a little relaxing, he chooses “Wine, then. I’ve got a Shiraz that’s delightful. A case left over from Uncle Aldous’s collection. I’ll go fetch a bottle. Please, make yourself at home.”

As he uncorks the bottle to let it breathe, he remembers he has several blocks of cheese and a box of (hopefully not too stale) crackers, so he artfully arranges them on an only slightly chipped plate, adding some baklava he finds in the fridge at the same time. He has to juggle to take everything down the stairs from his flat and into the back room but manages without a disaster. He’s turning on a lamp when Anthony saunters into the room from the main bookshop area, clearly drawn by the noise Ezra is making.

“Oh.”

Ezra turns to see Anthony standing in the door frame, lit with gold from the soft light he’s just switched on. He looks so lovely, more so for standing in Ezra’s own space, his stance awkward and shy.

Ezra smiles. “Please, come in. Have a seat– But only if you want to. And some wine—also not required, but very lovely. And I brought us some nibbles too. Wouldn’t do to get drunk on our first– that is, for this, um, for our tutoring session. I won’t remember how to work the application if I do …” he finishes lamely. He wrings his hands.

Why on earth is he babbling? He’s finally got the man of his two-year pining era in his building and– and, oh God, _he has the man of his two-year pining era in his building_. What the hell was he thinking?

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He wants this. He’s wanted it for so long. He can do this. He opens his eyes, gives Anthony a tremulous smile, and sits on the sofa, patting the seat beside him. They need to be close, so they can look at his phone at the same time. He busies himself with pouring wine into glasses and arranging some food on a small plate for himself. He tries to not pay attention to Anthony’s own movements, letting him grow comfortable enough to finally sit down next to ( _next to!_ ) Ezra. He grabs his own wine glass and downs half of it in one go and continues to clutch the glass in his tense hands. He turns away the food, and Ezra vows to keep an eye on his alcohol levels. As much as he’d like to see a drunk Anthony relaxing in his backroom, best to keep things polite for now. Someday, more. Maybe. Hopefully.

***

Anthony wants to _die_. He’s not sure if he wants to die from a combination of embarrassment (had he really called Ezra “Angel?” God, he’s an idiot) and tension, or if he wants to die because he’s sitting _right next to Ezra_. He clutches his glass like a lifeline and tries to relax. He hopes the wine kicks in soon. He should probably eat something, but right now his stomach is in knots.

Ezra wiggles into a more comfortable position, plate sitting neatly on his knees as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He swipes it open and navigates to the app that’s brought them together (well, the app used by the scheming Madame Tracy to bring them together).

“It’s all so confusing. What do all of these buttons at the bottom do? Why do I keep getting the message page when I swipe left? How do I post more than one picture at a time? Should I be using the filters? How do I find a person? How do I see their posts? Should I heart everything? Madame Tracy and Anathema have hearted all my things. It’s … it’s too much. Help?”

Ezra finally looks up, holding his phone out for Anthony to take. His eyes are big and blue-green-brown and pleading. His bottom lip even trembles a little and … oh fuck, there’s no way Anthony will _ever_ be able to say no to that face, and he realizes just exactly how screwed he is. Whipped, and they’re not even having sex …

He takes a deep breath, letting the very slight haze from the wine and Ezra’s adorable expression fill and calm him. If he’s screwed, he’s at least going to be cool about it. He throws a smirk as he takes the phone. Their fingers brush, and he forces his hand not to shake.

“First of all, Angel”—oh shit, he’s said again, but Ezra’s pink cheeks urge him on—“when you tap the heart, it’s called Liking a post. And then …

***

After half an hour of tutoring, they move on to discussing social media and its role in modern society, which prompts Anthony to expound the virtues of the show _Black Mirror,_ and he suddenly finds himself offering to have Ezra over (!!!) some evening for Netflix and _Actual_ Chill (yes, he has to explain _that_ phrase to Ezra as well, but the blush is so worth it). Then they move on to favorite films. The wine bottle has slowly emptied, and they’ve both grown more relaxed.

“–then you _still_ won’t have finished watching _The Sound of Music_ ,” he finishes, punctuating his words with his wine glass, which holds the last dregs of the bottle. “At least, that’s what it feels like to me.”

Ezra groans and rubs his eyes. “That sounds _terrible_. Why did you watch it so many times if you hate it?”

“Supposedly well-meaning aunts. My parents were the black sheep of the family, so the rest of them took turns taking me to church and giving me Bibles and whatnot.”

Ezra looks down at his hands where they sit folded in his lap, neat and orderly like a knitting project. He hums sympathetically, and Anthony knows. It’s easy enough to spot, children of fundamental religious guardians. They all have a certain expression of wariness and guilt. Add in a queer factor and that expression is doubly pained. He thinks he sees that expression on Ezra’s face now, and it makes him hope, just a bit. Ezra clearly is having a pleasant evening, thoughts of overly religious families aside. They could definitely become friends (Ezra is right, they do have a lot in common). How much further of a reach is it for them to become more than friends?

Anthony pushes the thought to the side. Best not to speculate. Instead, he continues the conversation.

“How bad was it for you?” He keeps his voice gentle.

“Hmm?” Ezra looks up, clearly bringing his own thoughts back to the present. “Oh.” He shrugs. “Not too bad as a child, I was a people pleaser. I did whatever my parents asked—chores, religious retreats, volunteering at the church—even though I didn’t agree with everything they believed in. And then,” here he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, “I met Jacob.”

Well that’s that confirmed. Anthony makes an encouraging noise and shifts so one leg is resting bent between them on the sofa, and he turns his body to more fully face his companion.

Ezra opens his eyes, and what he sees must encourage him, because he smiles. “He was so sweet, so lovely. It only took a couple of months as his friend to realize any feelings I’d thought I’d had for girls was nothing compared to what I felt for him. I fought it for so long, until he finally got the nerve to kiss me. And then I was in love and happy and didn’t care, so I … came out.”

He looks apologetic, and Anthony wants to wipe that expression from his face. He should never have to feel shame or guilt over being himself. Then again, the same can be said of himself, but that hasn’t stopped the feelings from creeping in even all these years later.

“End of Thatcher?” he asks quietly.

Ezra nods. “You?” His eyes are wide at the question, and Anthony hopes just a little bit more.

“Yeah, but not quite so bad. Like I said, my parents were the black sheep, but they died when I was sixteen”—he hears a breath catch and glances at Ezra’s sympathetic face—“so those well-meaning aunts took me in. They didn’t know about my … ‘predilections’ then, but the older I got, the more they criticized me for just being … me. Tattoos, working for a florist, no university. None of those scream well-adjusted, upper-middle class member of society. I think they feared I’d turn into my parents—who were perfectly lovely people, by the way, if a little absent. My gran was happy to let me be myself, though, but she was ill for as long as I could remember.”

“Was?” If possible, Ezra’s eyes grow even bigger and his face sadder.

Anthony nods and looks away. It’s been a year, but it still hurts, even knowing she’d lived a very long and fulfilled life.

Warmth covers his bent knee, and he looks back to see a soft, manicured hand sitting there. It hits him just how amazing Ezra Fell is. He’s just been talking about his own terrible family life, which must have been much worse than Anthony’s, but still, he’s the one doing the comforting. It a reminder of just how not-good-for-him Anthony is.

“I remember when you came into my shop, needing a book for your grandmother. Was that her?”

He nods again.

“It was a good book. I’m sure she loved it.”

Anthony can’t take the mood anymore. “I’m surprised you sold it to me, knowing now how loathe you are to part with your precious books.”

Ezra takes the hint and grins. “I wasn’t quite so miserly when I first took over the shop. But … I would have sold the book to you even if it had been last week.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I liked you when we met. You were funny and sweet. And the book wasn’t for you, it was a gift. Books are the best gifts. Well, as long as they’re not Bibles.”

The tease pulls a grin to Anthony’s own face. “True.” He decides to be a bit honest, given how open Ezra is being. “I’m sorry we weren’t friends before now.” They are friends now, right? He hopes so, and Ezra’s open face seems to indicate the same. “I’m not … good with people.”

Ezra shrugs. He seems to have forgotten his hand is on Anthony’s knee, who is not about to point it out. The warmth is nice. “It’s not my best facet either. In fact, I thought the reason you never talked to me after that one time was because I’d scared you away. I know I can be a bit … intense, especially when I’m talking about books. It’s scared people away before.”

As if anything Ezra could do would ever scare Anthony away. The man is amazing and lovely and just exactly who he wants in his life. He’s about to say as much—the wine may have loosened his tongue a bit too much—when Ezra lets out a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Oh!” He covers his mouth and blushes, and it’s so adorable, Anthony almost crushes him in his arms with love. To stop himself, he looks at the time and sees it’s just after nine. Not particularly late, but still, they’ve been together for nearly three hours, though it feels like only one.

“God, I’m a terrible guest. I should go. You’re probably usually upstairs and curled up with a book by this time of the evening. He doesn’t say that he knows for sure that Ezra is usually upstairs by this time, because that would indicate he keeps an eye on the bookshop and placement of lit lights as evenings progress.

“No, no, no, I’ve been enjoying myself. I’m glad we’ve finally been able to talk.” Ezra stands when Anthony does and follows him to the door. “And thank you so much for the tutelage. I hope I can remember it all when it comes time to post next time.”

“Of course you will. You’re so smart.”

The words tumble out before he can stop them, but he isn’t given time to berate himself because Ezra smiles at him shyly. “I’ll only be as good as my teacher.”

“Not exactly a high bar.”

“Don’t!” Ezra is frowning.

“What?”

“Don’t talk down on yourself so much. You’re smart and kind and funny, your arrangements are gorgeous, and I have it on good authority that your record collection is top notch. You’re an amazing person, Anthony J Crowley, and I won’t have you saying otherwise. Got it?”

Ezra’s face is blazing and fierce, and Anthony falls a little more in love. He knows his own expression is soft and far too fond, but he doesn’t care. “Okay.”

Mollified, Ezra gives a final nod. “Good. Now, you have a lovely rest of your evening. Be safe crossing the street.” He gives Anthony a little pat on his shoulder, his hand only falling away when Anthony makes his slow way out of the door.

“Will do, Angel. Thanks for the food and drink. I’ll get it next time.”

Ezra’s face brightens. “Yes! Netflix and … um, food. Yes. Can’t wait!”

When Anthony falls into his bed later that night, that bright smile is all he can think about.

  
**\--Footnotes--**

[3] Spoiler: he’s been worrying since he’d woke up that more. Or, more accurately, he’s been worrying since they’d agreed on the surely-not-a-date a week ago.

[4] <https://balconygardenweb-lhnfx0beomqvnhspx.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/Helleborus-%E2%80%98Onyx-Odyssey%E2%80%99.jpg>


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becoming friends ...

Now that the ice has been broken, they talk often. Mostly just a wave and a yelled greeting across the street, but one morning when Ezra takes a picture of his latte and posts it to Instagram and Anthony comments that he’d kill for some decent coffee, Ezra hurries back to the coffeeshop and brings the gift to his new friend. He’s so happy they can be like this now. Anthony’s friendship is quickly becoming the most important thing to him, and he wants to celebrate and enjoy every minute of it. It’s not exactly the whirlwind romance he’d hoped for, but whirlwind friendship can be just as exciting and fun.

He goes over to Anthony’s the week after their first evening together to watch that show Anthony is obsessed with, and it soon becomes a weekly thing. They pick up a new show whenever they finish the previous one or they find a film to watch. When he sees Anthony’s extensive record collection and comments that he doesn’t know much modern music, Anthony begins bringing over to the bookshop a few records at a time to begin his music education. They spend their time together lounging in the bookshop’s back room or sitting close on Anthony’s sofa watching television or just shooting the breeze. And after he brings Anthony coffee that first morning, that gets thrown into their routine as well.

Even when their in-person interaction is only a greeting from across the street, they spend hours talking via Instagram (which Ezra has learned is not called _The_ Instagram after Anthony laughs his arse off). Their conversations are mostly bits of stuff and nonsense. Bickering over whether Shakespeare’s comedies or tragedies are better, what flavor of ice cream is tastiest, and which Spice Girl is the coolest (it’s Scary Spice, no matter what Anthony says about Posh Spice). Anthony wheedles until Ezra shows him his tattoos. They start going out for dinners after work after the fifth time Anthony says he hasn’t been a restaurant Ezra name drops.

It’s good. No, it’s wonderful. Even without the romance, it’s perfectly lovely. They understand each other and make each other laugh. They talk about movies and chocolate and GBBO. So why does Ezra keep aching for more, when he already has so much?

This is the closest he’s felt to someone in a long time, and he thinks that’s the problem. His close relationships in the past have always been with men he was romantically involved with, and so his brain automatically thinks that should be the case with Anthony.

But Anthony has shown no interest other than friendship. He was a bit awkward when they first met, but that must be how he is with all new people, because now he’s nothing but sweet and friendly. And it’s not as if being his friend isn’t absolutely wonderful. It is! Ezra is so glad they’re finally comfortable around each other. It’s just … sometimes, he wants to hold him, to show him just how much he loves (yes, loves) him.

He learns to ignore that part of himself, to be happy with the way things are between them. He’s reminding himself of this yet again one afternoon when the subject of his affection glides through the door (just _how_ does he move his hips like that? It should be illegal) with a seemingly casual wave. It’s adorable when he pretends to be cool. He slouches on the counter in front of Ezra.

“I seemed to have managed to find the sole goth bridezilla in the London metro area. And I didn’t get my cup of coffee or my breakfast. I’m exhausted, annoyed, and hangry. Come for an early lunch?”

His pleading expression won’t allow Ezra to say no, not to mention, any chance to close the store is one he’ll take, so he nods and goes to put away a stack of books he’s just bought. When he approaches the door, he sees Anthony has already turned the sign to Closed. It’s so wonderful when Anthony does things like that for him. If he let himself, Ezra could believe they _are_ more than friends. If only he knew it would last forever, he’d be perfectly happy with their arrangement. Sex is wonderful and all, but it’s this intimacy that he craves, this knowing that there’s another person looking out for you, and that no one will come between the two of you.

He reminds himself yet again to enjoy what he has while he has it, so he pastes a smile on his face and lets Anthony bow him out the door.

“Anywhere in particular?” Ezra asks as he locks the door behind them.

“You were sighing over a sushi craving earlier, so I thought we’d do the place down the street.”

“Oh, you do spoil me, my dear.”

Is it his imagination, or does Anthony’s smile look a little stiff? He hopes he hasn’t overstepped.

“Oh, you know me. I don’t mind much where we go, as long as it’s out. I can only burn so many meals before giving up.”

“Mmm,” Ezra agrees. That reminds him. “I was thinking …” He wrings his hands. Is it too forward? Too couple-y? Maybe he shouldn’t ask.

“Angel? What were you thinking?” There’s a little V of concern between Anthony’s brows, but the nickname settles Ezra’s worry.

“Oh, well, a woman dropped by this morning asking if she could put an advert in the window for cooking classes, and of course I told her no because if I let her, I’d have to let everyone put one up, and then people would think the shop was a place they could come and hang out, and then there would be dirty shoes traipsing through and people with lattes and _buying_ things and …” After a particularly emphatic wave of his arms, he realizes he’s got off topic. “Oh, never mind all that.”

“Don’t stop on my account. You seemed rather impassioned about it.” There’s a smirk on Anthony’s face, but it looks fond, so Ezra isn’t bothered.

“Oh you, stop.” He pushes lightly at Anthony’s arm, and he wants so badly to leave it there, but he forces it back down again. “The point is, I think we ought to take some cooking lessons. We can’t keep relying on Madame Tracy forever. We’re men in our forties, we should be able to take care of ourselves.”

A garbled sound emits from Anthony’s throat, and when Ezra looks at him, he’s a little pale.

“Are you alright?”

“Mhm.” After a small cough, Anthony speaks. “You, um, want me to take them with you?”

Oh dear, he _has_ overstepped. He was afraid of this. “No. I mean, yes. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought maybe it would be a fun thing to get us out of the house while teaching us something. And it would come in handy when we have movie nights, instead of being limited to whatever is in the area that delivers. But as I said, don’t feel pressured. It was just a sugg–”

“Yes!” Anthony blurts, thankfully cutting off his bumbling.

“Yes?” he asks tentatively. Perhaps he hasn’t mucked this up completely.

Anthony looks away and scratches his neck. “Yeah. It would be fun. We should do it.”

Ezra claps his hands and grins. “Oh, lovely! I’ll check the dates and let you know.” He stops and looks around. “Oh, I think we walked too far.”

***

Anthony checks their surroundings. He’d been so astounded and frazzled that he’d stopped paying attention. First it was Ezra being all cute and rambly and then he’d asked Anthony to take a cooking class together, like they’re … boyfriends or something. His brain had shut down then, and his body, still on autopilot, kept walking. They laugh (a bit awkwardly in Anthony’s case), turn around, and make their way a block back to their destination.

They sit at the bar because Ezra likes watching the sushi being made, and after they give their orders, he continues the conversation.

“I think classes start in two weeks. Remind me to check the poster when we get back. It’s six or eight classes, so that should last us a while. And the woman mentioned a knife skills class, which could be handy, since I fear for my life any time I come near a sharp object. Oh! And I’ve always wanted to take a pastry class, so we could do one of those after.”

Part of Anthony wants to let his friend keep rambling. He could literally watch that all day, but it’s probably smarter to limit how often he grins like a lovesick fool. One of these days, Ezra will catch on. Anthony had worried that he had already twigged, with his comment earlier about spoiling him. He does seem to indulge him pretty often, but Ezra doesn’t seem to mind. Some days he forgets they’re nothing more than friends. They’re closer than he’s ever been with someone, even his exes. And they do things like bring each other coffee or lunch, share record collections, and talk all the time. And he thinks it could be enough, even if they don’t have a label more serious than friends, or maybe, if he’s lucky, best friends.

“Okay, okay. Anything you want. I’ll do it with you.” He grins like the idiot he is, giving in so easily.

Ezra, who had still been making plans who knows how far into the future, stutters to a halt. “An– anything?”

“Yeah. Pastry classes, barista classes, juggling. Whatever. You name it, I’m there.”

Then their appetizers arrive and Anthony, after spending a very trying two hours with a bride from hell without his usual breakfast and morning coffee, could weep with relief to have food sitting in front of him. “Speaking of baristas, can we stop at the coffee shop on the way home? I need my caffeine fix. My head is killing me.”

“Oh, you poor boy. I wondered what happened when I didn’t hear from you. Did your early call with the distributor not go well? I almost brought you a coffee anyway, but then my new shipment came in, and I got distracted.” Ezra looks chagrined. “You know how I am.”

He really does, and he loves that he does. “No problem. Books rate higher than me, I get that. And yeah, my call ran long and was not easy. I think I’m going to start working directly with a couple of farms and nurseries. I’m more established now and have a pretty good network, so it doesn’t make sense having a middleman these days. It just causes more headaches and less profit margin for me.”

He takes a bite of his gyoza, and his moan is almost pornographic. Food has never tasted so good. “Oh yeah, I needed this. Good suggestion. How’s yours?”

He glances over just as Ezra whips his head away and takes a bite of his own food. “Lovely,” he croaks out and takes another bite. It must be good, because his earlier chattiness disappears for the rest of the meal. Anthony likes that there’s no need to fill the silence between them. They can talk or not, it’s just nice being together for it.


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a cooking class and take another step together.

They get lucky and take the last two spots for the cooking class. Anthony is a little nervous. There’s a reason he eats take-away, frozen dinners, or simple things like cheese and crackers. His first two years on his own, he’d tried his hand at cooking, but everything always ended up burnt or terrible tasting, and he finally gave up. But he likes the idea of cooking. Well, no, that’s not exactly it. He likes the idea of cooking _with Ezra_. In any case, he looks forward to the class in the two weeks leading up to it.

Time passes by quickly, and before he knows it, the night of their first class arrives. It’s at their local rec center, so they decide to walk, hoping to catch one of the last warm evenings before autumn cools things down. He drops by the bookshop earlier than planned—and that has _nothing_ to do with wanting to watch a flustered Ezra flit around finishing his duties—and surprisingly Ezra is already closing up.

“Oh, you’re early!” He throws Anthony a bright smile as he locks the door.

“So are you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from putting a hand on Ezra’s back to guide him around the corner.

“Yes, well, I was just so excited, I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I thought I would drop by yours and watch you close.”

Anthony grins at how closely their wants and actions mirror each other. “Same. I reckon we’ll just walk slow then. It’s a nice evening for it.”

Ezra agrees with a hum. He chatters on about what he thinks they’ll be making tonight, and things he wants to be able to make after the eight classes are done. Anthony happily listens before noticing how close together they are. Do they always walk this close? From time to time, Ezra’s bent elbow brushes Anthony’s, and when he waves his arms—as he often does when he’s talking emphatically, which is always—his hands fly in front of Anthony’s face. It’s distracting, but not bad. In fact, it’s quite nice. Perhaps they’ll one day graduate to casual touching. That would be very good.

The balmy air relaxes him, as does the pitter-patter rhythm of Ezra’s speaking, and he lets it all wash over him. This is lovely. This, he could do forever. And if Ezra has his way, they’ll be taking cooking classes for the next ten years, so forever is a possibility.

They reach the rec center and wander around looking for their classroom. Anthony’s never been here before, but it’s a nice place. Sport areas for the kids, classrooms for various types of courses. There are murals everywhere, probably from art classes. Ezra lets out a happy hum when they reach their room and see the miniature kitchen stations. They sign in and find their station, chatting while they wait for the class to start.

A young woman arrives at the station in front of them and immediately walks over to the work top that separates their two stations with a wave.

“Hi! I’m Lana. Looks like we’ll be neighbors!”

Ezra beams. “Hello, Lana. I’m Ezra, and this is Anthony. Have you taken a cooking class before?”

She shrugs. “I took one with my mum when I was about fourteen, but we spent most of it fighting, and I gave up after that. But, I’m on my own now, so I thought I should learn at least a few basics. You?”

“It’s my first. Yours too, right, dear?” Ezra turns his curious gaze on Anthony, who feels all warm from it.

“Yup. Should’ve done like you, taking a class now.” He nods to Lana. “My twenties were one kitchen disaster after another.”

“I’m not quite as bad as he is,” Ezra adds, “but I’d like to be able to make more than a few things, and we really should stop eating out so much, so here we are!”

“It’s so sweet that you’re doing this together. I wish my girlfriend could come, but she takes night classes, so I’m stuck with whoever they partner me with.” Lana frowns. “I hope they’re better than my mum.”

Anthony laughs. “If they’re completely terrible, we can switch partners. Me and Ezra both work in retail and are used to dealing with terrible people. Well, me more than him. Given that you only pretend to sell books, isn’t that right, Angel?”

He lightly taps his elbow against Ezra’s arm, who startles as if he wasn’t paying attention. “What? Oh yes. I mean, no! I sell books.”

“Don’t listen to him. I think the last book he sold was the one he sold me when we met two years ago.”

Lana laughs but is stopped from saying anything when her class partner turns up. He’s a young man around the same age as she is, and they start swapping information. When it looks like they’ll get on, Anthony turns back to his own partner.

“What do you think?”

“Hm? What? Nothing!”

“What?”

“What?”

Anthony stares at his friend in concern. “You okay?”

“Of course, tickety boo. What were you asking?”

“Tickety … alright. What do you think we’re making?”

They study the ingredients at their station and agree that it’s Italian. Probably pasta with an easy marinara sauce, which proves correct when their teacher claps their hands to get everyone’s attention and then explains what all they’ll be covering during the next eight weeks.

They start off chopping marinara ingredients, and Ezra wasn’t lying when he said he feared for his life when using a knife. Veg and knives are flying all over until Anthony gently pulls the knife away. “Maybe leave the chopping to me. And, we should find out about that knife skills class sooner than later, hmm?”

Ezra blushes and puts his hands behind his back. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll start browning the garlic and onions, shall I?”

Tasks divided, they’re quiet as they concentrate on the work. It’s nice, them working quietly like this. The station is small, so they bump into each other from time to time, but they just laugh or smile at each other and then continue their work. It might be the best night Anthony’s ever had, except for that first night at the bookshop, after he’d finally stopped freaking out with nerves, that is. It’s been so easy with Ezra in general, practically from the start. He’d worried he’d spend all of his time pining, and while there are moments, he’s learning to just appreciate what they do have. He’s been happier since they became friends, and he thinks Ezra is the same. And when they have moments like this, it’s damn near perfect.

Their teacher stops by their station, correcting Anthony’s knife technique a little, and praising Ezra’s browned garlic and onions.

“Ready for the veg when you are, dear,” Ezra says, peering into the pot.

“Ready.”

They switch places with ease so Anthony can add the tomatoes and bell pepper.

“Well done, gentlemen.” Their teacher grins at them. “I find that a seamless cooking experience is a sign of a strong relationship. I like having at least one couple in each class to show how working well together looks.”

“Well, if I’d let Ezra come by himself, he’d have chopped off a finger by now. And putting me near fire is never a good idea, so taking the class together seemed like the smartest thing to do.” He’s finished adding the veg, so he nudges Ezra from in front of the cutting board so he can chop up the basil.

It’s only when the teacher begins talking to the class at large that he realizes he tacitly acknowledged that he and Ezra are a couple.

He’s an idiot.

***

As they clean up their stations at the end of class, Ezra keeps hearing the words of Lana and their teacher repeating in his head.

 _“_ _It’s so sweet that you’re doing this together. I wish my girlfriend could come …”_

_“I find that a seamless cooking experience is a sign of a strong relationship. I like having at least one couple in each class to show what working well together looks like.”_

Sweet. My girlfriend. Strong relationship. Couple. These two people intimated that he and Anthony are a couple, and both times, Anthony did nothing to deny it. In fact, he went on to imply the same. What does it mean? Is Anthony clueless? Too nice to correct them? Confident enough in himself that he doesn’t care what people think?

Ezra doesn’t know what to think. They have been growing closer since they first started spending time together, and while Anthony has never pushed things into a romantic relationship, he’s also never shied away when Ezra becomes accidentally overly familiar. Ezra knows what he wants all of this to mean, but he worries he’s letting hope and want cloud his judgement. And the last thing he wants to do is scare his friend away in his selfish quest to gain more.

Anthony truly could be just a friendly guy who doesn’t have boundary issues. But then Ezra remembers how few friends Anthony seems to have, and how most of them are more friendly acquaintances, except perhaps Madame Tracy, who just won’t take no for an answer when it comes to a home-cooked meal and some mother henning.

Does Anthony not realize they’re moving past normal friends territory, being as joined at the hip as they are these days? Does he not care? Or maybe. Perhaps he wants what Ezra wants. His words to the others tonight give Ezra hope.

Hope enough so that when they start their trek home, walking just as slowly as before, he feels courageous enough to brush the back of his hand against Anthony’s. He hears a breath catch, but Anthony doesn’t acknowledge the movement. A few moments later, they brush hands again. A dog barks, and birds are noisy as they fly home to roost, but the two men are quiet. It isn’t the normal quiet, where they’re comfortable in their silence. There’s a tension here. Ezra wonders if it’s all in his head, or if Anthony feels it too.

At the third brush, Ezra isn’t sure which of them has initiated it. He decides to chance it any way—he _must_ , he can’t go on any longer without knowing. He slips his hand into Anthony’s and holds his breath.

There’s a moment when Ezra thinks Anthony will reject him. He tenses, and his smooth stride freezes for an interminable age,[5] but then he exhales and adjusts his hand to grip Ezra’s more firmly, fingers interlocked, and Ezra lets out his own relieved breath.

“Okay?” he asks when words return to him.

“Y-yeah.” Anthony’s voice is barely a whisper, but that’s okay because Ezra’s is only slightly above a breath.

Half a block later, Ezra tries again. “We work well together, don’t we?” He can almost breath normally now.

Anthony ducks his head and smiles. “Yeah.”

Feeling bold with their fingers entwined, Ezra says, “Is ‘yeah’ the only thing you can say right now? Watch out, or I’ll ask if I can kiss you.” His voice only wobbles a little.

Anthony comes to a halt, pulling Ezra back through their joined hands. “Y-yeah. Yesss. Please?” With his eyes wide and mouth trembling, he looks both pleading and hopeful.

“Oh.” The word is soft. All Ezra can concentrate on right now are Anthony’s lips. “Really? You want that? With me?”

With a vigorous nod, Anthony closes the distance. Their noses are only centimeters apart. “Yeah.”

“Oh. Good. Me too.”

The remaining space between them disappears.

***

Ezra is _kissing_ him. Ezra is kissing _him_. And he’s … well, Anthony is trying not to muck this up too badly. He’s kissed people before, of course. Had relationships. But this is Ezra. He’s never felt this way for anyone else. He’s never been their friend before being their lover. He’s never built up anticipation and hope and anxiety for months. He’s never wanted any of that before, but with Ezra, it’s felt perfect. The wait has sometimes been terrible, but it’s worth it, to be here now. _Kissing Ezra_. Ezra, whose lips are soft and warm, who smells like tomatoes and garlic and old books and sunshine and so many things that make Anthony feel like he’s found home for the first time in his life. Ezra, who wears bowties and doesn’t keep up with pop culture and uses phrases more suited to octogenarians. Ezra, whose smile lights Anthony up from the inside out, who has an adorable laugh, who helps old people cross the street, who lets kids with rough home lives hang out at the bookshop as long as they need to, who has hidden tattoos, whose personality complements Anthony’s own better than anyone else’s. Ezra, who is _kissing him_.

***

Anthony is all bones and sinew, skin smooth and warm. He isn’t pulling back. In fact, he twists around Ezra in the most delicious way, as if he needs to touch every square centimeter of Ezra, who is not about to complain. In fact, he’s logging it all in his long-term memory so he can think about it later, when he’s not so overwhelmed that they’re _finally_ kissing after all this time. He’s finally able to touch that beautiful sunset hair and breathe in the green scents that never leave Anthony’s skin. There is so much life to him—smell and movement and sound (oh, the moans are gorgeous)—and Ezra, who has kissed a few men in his time, has never felt that same life move through him in the way it does now. His lips tingle, and sparks shoot up his spine. His fingers caress soft hair and warm skin. It’s better than he ever imagined or hoped for. He could do this for the rest of his life.

***

A wolf whistle pulls Anthony out of the haze and away from Ezra, who also jerks back in surprise.

“Oh!” Ezra says, putting hands to pink cheeks. His smile is adorable.

“Good ‘oh’?” Anthony asks, suddenly shy. Ezra kissed him. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want to. Right?

“Oh, yes! And you …?”

Anthony’s nod makes his brain rattle. “Yes. Of c– yes, good. Um, yeah.”

Ezra drops his hands and his grin grows. “Wonderful. Maybe we should …?” He gestures in the direction of the bookstore.

“Right, yeah. Good idea.”

They turn away from each other and begin walking again. It only takes two seconds for Ezra’s hand to slip back into Anthony’s, who tightens the grip and tries not to think about his own sweaty hands. It’s amazing, this closeness. He keeps kicking out worries of this not lasting, of Ezra finding fault in something. He wants to enjoy it while he can. For as long as Ezra will have him.

“So.” Ezra’s voice is tremulous. “Holding hands is good. Kissing is, um, very good. What other things do you like?”

“I. Um. Well.” Anthony tries (badly) to stall. “You know. The usual.”

Ezra gives him side eye.

“God, you’re evil, Angel. Just … normal stuff. Cuddling in front of the television, napping together, the cooking thing was surprisingly fun. Just being around each other. Like we’ve been doing.”

“Oh.” It sounds disappointed.

“Ezra? What’s wrong?” Anthony pulls them to a stop. They’re less than ten steps from the bookshop, but he doesn’t want this conversation to be derailed by unlocking doors and turning on lights and deciding where to talk.

“So, you want what we already have, but with more touching?”

“Yeah! So many times I’ve wanted to touch you or be close to you, but held back because I didn’t think you wanted it. But I do want it. All the usual boyfriend stuff, you know?”

Ezra jerks his head up, eyes wide. “Boyfriend?”

“I- I mean. That issss. Well, you know. I- if yo-you. Want to?” _Could you be any less smooth, Anthony J Crowley?_ He winces.

Grin returning, Ezra nods. “Yes. Very much. Yes. _Boyfriends_. Partners? What does one call it when one is almost fifty?”

His own grin firmly in place, he takes Ezra’s hand. “We’ll work on the label later. Maybe we can take this … kissing inside?” He nods to the bookshop.

“Sounds perfect.”

  
**\--Footnotes--**

[5] About three seconds.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the rest of their lives

And though little changes after their first kiss, things are perfect. They still chat for hours on Instagram, go out for lunch, watch movies on Anthony’s sofa, drink wine on Ezra’s. Anthony comes to the bookshop when he’s bored and slouches on any semi-flat and uncrowded surface. Ezra brings coffee to the flower shop in the mornings. They add cooking to their evenings once they’ve had a few classes. They also add kissing to the routine—any time of day, any situation, no classes needed.

The first time Madame Tracy spies them kissing, she squeals with delight. The first time Anathema does, she crows that Newt owes her fifteen pounds. No one in cooking class is surprised, of course. Lana’s girlfriend picks her up one evening after class, and the four of them end up going out for drinks.[6] The two men still prefer each other’s company to anyone else’s, but they allow that having other friends is a good thing. They also agree that the two of them as a couple are a good thing. Even when they fight, or kind of hate each other’s weird quirks just a bit, it’s still better than being apart.

These days, when Anthony hears that cheerful voice, it’s still Pavlovian. But now, he reacts with a fond smile and a kiss.

**  
\--Footnotes--  
  
**

[6] Ezra has to promise to cook for the next two weeks to get Anthony to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Sorry for the super short epilogue. To make up for it, I've posted a missing scene where Ezra shares his tattoos with Anthony. Mosey along to Part 2 of this series if you want to read it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> You can come babble excitedly at me on Tumblr [@vateacancameos](http://vateacancameos.tumblr.com/).


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